


Don't Look at Me in that Tone of Voice

by katherineandchompers (greendaisy)



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Other, Pining, Robbery, Shooting, sort of mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greendaisy/pseuds/katherineandchompers
Summary: Ainsley Rice discovers that sometimes perfectly human crime can go dangerously awry and finds themselves bleeding into Ava’s hands for the second time.
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Don't Look at Me in that Tone of Voice

The detective falls to their knees, collapsing back against the grill of their rickety grey hatchback. Residual heat from the engine blows against the back of their neck and the asphalt of Wayhaven’s one and only convenience store radiates the heat of the summer sun. Even through Ainsley’s work pants, the sensation is just on the edge of burning their shins. The storefront looks eerily normal. Seeing it now, they would never guess it had just been robbed. A gushing, wet sensation on their shoulder registers to them as decidedly not sweat.

They finally look down and notice the blood blooming across their shirt. It spills from their shoulder into the absorbent cotton fabric of their T-shirt, slowly distributing the blood over more and more of their chest. There was definitely a shot fired in their general direction, but if they couldn’t see the wound right now they would never have believed it actually hit. This explains how they ended up on the ground at least.

 _Training Saves Lives_.

It was the slogan of one of those stuffy police re-trainings in the city. At the time, Ainsley had done the bare minimum to pass between cracking jokes, but they don’t know if they would have had the wherewithal to radio for help right now if the procedure hadn’t been drilled into their head on a semi-regular basis. They don’t chance trying to use their injured arm, not one to look a painless gift horse in the mouth. Instead they reach around with their opposite hand and fumble the radio from their belt.

"You there, Douglas?" Ainsley asks, more lackadaisically than they probably should. The radio hisses to life as though Douglas is going to answer, and then abruptly falls silent. It crackles to life again a moment later, and thankfully settles into a stable buzz. Did he forget how to work the radio? Possibly. At least he stayed at the desk for once. _It would have sucked if he’d gone on break._

"Copy that, Detective," Douglas says cheerfully.

"Uh..." Ainsley falters. It has been a long time since they used the station radio for anything other than teasing Douglas or making lunch plans with Tina. "I have an officer down at," they rattle off the convenience store address. "I'm requesting immediate medical attention. Armed robbery suspect fled on foot. He's... ah, fuck it! Just tell Tina it's Peter Mosely."

Douglas responds over the radio. The words are about as clear as the sound quality ever gets on the glorified walkie-talkies, but Ainsley doesn’t process a single one of them. The radio slips from their hands onto the ground. Calling in for help was just step one. Now they have to deal with step two.

Another slogan comes to mind: _Time is Tissue._

There are some old napkins in the glovebox they could use, should use, but it is _disgustingly_ hot outside and worse in the car. Instead, they push themselves upright. They’re dazed, but only hobbling because their knees are stiff and angry from the fall. Ainsley wanders toward the store front, in search of air conditioning.

A rush of cool air washes over them as they open the door and Ainsley moans in relief. There’s a rack of lame souvenir T-shirts by the counter. They yank several off the rack in one obnoxious screeching motion of metal on metal and plop themselves on the floor. The worst part about getting shot always seemed like it would be how much it hurt. It’s one of those things they never even realized they’d made assumptions about until now, when their expectations do not match their reality.

Ainsley knows what pain feels like. They are only few months out from having learned a new definition of agony. The echoes of the feelings and sensations they felt in that warehouse with Murphy haunt them badly enough for them to try and bury the memories forever. Ainsley never wants to feel like that ever again. What if putting pressure on the wound brings on all the pain they’re supposed to be feeling? They happen to like not being in pain. Call it a hobby.

…Unfortunately, their other hobby is not dying. Ainsley screws their eyes shut, breathing quick, shallow breaths. They can handle this. They survived it the first time. This time, they are in control. They don’t have to watch the blood slowly crawl down the tube toward them. Murphy isn’t here. With a sharp, pre-emptive gasp, Ainsley uses the heel of their hand to press the fabric onto the wound. 

The agony never comes. It hurts, sure, rubbing their hand in it is a lot like rubbing dirt into a scraped knee but it’s mild and distant, like if pain was a flavor of sparkling water. They’re regretting the air conditioner now too, somehow too hot and too cold all at the same time, but they're coherent and aware.

“Ainsley!” The muffled, distant voice draws their attention immediately. It is a visceral, physical response to _her_. The conscious recognition of who it is, of familiar ice green eyes and solid muscle, comes afterward. By the time they remember her name, she is looming over them, hands balled into fists at her side _. She is absolutely stunning._

“ _Ava_ ,” Ainsley whispers reverently.

“We came when we heard about the gunshots!” Felix bursts into the convenience store, shouting the explanation at no one in particular. His enthusiasm drains when he catches sight of the detective. He draws back to stand beside Mason, fidgeting anxiously.

“We need Agency medics! Now!” Ava turns around just long enough to bark the orders and then drops to her knees at Ainsley’s side. Nat hesitates at the sight of the detective bloodied on the ground and her oldest friend hunched desperately over their body, but she slips behind them to help the poor soul making the strangled, ugly whimpering noises in the employee restroom.

Mason gives a single nod of reassurance. “Already on their way.” 

Ava’s throat constricts at the sight of all the blood. It only lasts a second—one second too long as far as Ava is concerned—before she can force herself back into control. They knew there was blood before they entered the building. The team was prepared this time.

Her body is screaming at her to look Ainsley in the eyes, but Ava knows better. If she looks at them right now, the surge of emotions threatening to drown her rationality will win. Instead, she stares at the ball of fabric in Ainsley’s hands. The bleeding looks worse than it is. She can smell how much blood has been lost. Her resolve almost breaks again when Ainsley gives a soft grunt of pain. Their shaking hand tightens, pressing down even more firmly on the wound.

“What are you doing?” Ava demands. That is not the instinctual reaction of someone covering their wound to minimize pain. It is a deliberate measure.

“I thought you were against jokes in dire situations,” Ainsley teases with a weak smile. Ava has to look away from them entirely. They are looking to her, expecting that she knows what needs to be done, and she is failing them when they need her most, and not for the first time. “Come on,” Ainsley tries again to lighten the atmosphere, “you can’t tell me _Ava du Mortain_ doesn’t know basic first-aid.”

“I have no use for pointless human knowledge,” Ava snaps defensively. The smile fades from Ainsley’s face, and the atmosphere around them dulls with it.

“If it were ‘pointless’ Ainsley wouldn’t be using it to save their life,” Felix defends.

Ava regrets her decision immediately. She can feel Ainsley’s gaze boring into her, trying to draw her attention away from their wound. She grits her teeth and ignores the urge to respond. After a few seconds Ainsley gives up, and the magnetic pull of their attention fades.

“I’m using pressure to slow the bleeding,” Ainsley explains. “They taught it to us at the Academy.”

“I’ll do that,” Ava demands. She pulls Ainsley’s bloody hand away from their shoulder, and freezes. The sensations are overwhelming: the scent of their blood, and the electric feeling between them whenever they touch, the way their fingers threaten to slip through her grasp. Ava smothers the feelings and Ainsley’s hand drops unceremoniously to the floor. She shifts her focus onto keeping firm, even pressure on the wound.

“Needed an excuse to get your hands on me?” Ainsley teases. Ava rolls her eyes, but she fights to hide a smile.

She finds herself inspecting the sharp lines of their face, their eyes scrunched shut against the pain. She shouldn’t be looking but now that she has, she can’t seem to look away. Their skin is unusually pale, and coated in a sheen of cold sweat, and their breaths come in shallow pants. Clearly, they are in more pain then they are letting on. Has it gotten worse?

“Mason. Felix. Wait outside for the medics.” This time, Ava can’t take her eyes off Ainsley long enough to give the orders. They both exit the store without complaint despite the sweltering heat. “Medics will arrive soon. The Agency has excellent response times,” Ava states, matter-of-factly.

Ainsley opens their eyes, and Ava finds herself captivated. The vivacious sparkle of their dark brown eyes is dulled by pain, but there is no worry to be found. They act like they are invincible, even now, bleeding out into her hands for the second time. 

“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice,” Ainsley complains through gritted teeth. They loll their head so they can get a better look at Ava’s face.

“Like what?” She asks, gruffly.

“Like I’m breaking your heart.” The frown returns to Ava’s face. They _are_ breaking her heart, and her control, and they barely even have to try.

“ _I will not lose you over a worthless human weapon_ ,” she barks with sharp determination. Ainsley’s usually quick wit fails them, and they blame it on the now white-hot pain through their shoulder. It’s still not as bad as they expected, but their concentration is failing them. The next thing Ainsley is truly aware of is the distant whoop of ambulance sirens, and what a relief it is to still be under the intensity of Ava’s gaze.

“Think they’re coming to arrest me?” Ainsley manages to put on a strained smile that Ava is clearly not buying. She glares disapprovingly, but can’t mask the worry behind her eyes any better than Ainsley is masking how much pain they are in. “I was trusting Douglas to call the ambulance for me.”

“A heinous crime indeed,” Ava deadpans. Ainsley’s entire face lights up at the joke, and the emotions Ava tried so hard to smother gasp back to life. 

“There’s the Ava I know and love,” Ainsley says casually. The way Ava’s heart races is anything but casual.

* * *

Ainsley feels the need to act even more devil-may-care in the presence of the Agency medics. The medics load the gurney into the back of the ambulance with practiced efficiency and professionalism. That professionalism saves lives, will save Ainsley’s life.

Ava frowns. Felix sidles up beside her.

“You could just go with them. You know you both want to,” Felix suggests, sing-songing the last sentence.

“Don’t worry about me,” Ainsley calls out from the back of the ambulance, struggling to push themselves upright with their good arm. They are out of earshot, but Ainsley is better at reading body language than they like to let on. A combination of pain and physical intervention from the medics, keeps them from getting more than a few inches above the pillow. Ainsley settles down with an exaggerated ‘oof’ noise. “Tis but a scratch!”

The unsettling silence that falls over the scene reminds Ainsley that this is not the most meme-literate crowd.

“I— _we_ will meet you there,” Ava says.

“You promise?” Ainsley asks, voice unusually tentative. Ava’s features soften.

“I promise.”


End file.
